


Night Terrors

by poedamneronisbae



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sexual Confusion, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poedamneronisbae/pseuds/poedamneronisbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is plagued by memories of past trauma at night. Sansa stays with him to comfort him, although she has scars of her own. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> I hopped onto the Jonsa train after episode 9 of season 6 (Battle of the Bastards) and fell quickly down the rabbit hole. This is my first fic, and I'd love to know what you think! Did I do them justice?  
> My favorite song that reminds me of Jonsa right now is Where's My Love by Syml, and I listened to it quite a bit while writing this chapter.

_I killed a boy._

Jon had told Sansa those words, in desperation and despair. He thrashed now, on his bed, in Robb’s old room. He couldn’t escape what he’d done, the men he had killed, the boy he had killed. When he closed his eyes, Olly’s cold, dead eyes bore into his head. He couldn’t forget the hard choices he’s made; what he’d brought himself to do. He’d killed his Crow leader to gain the wildlings’ trust, he’d beheaded Janos Slynt, he’d hanged Olly and Alliser Thorne and all the traitors. Still, their faces tortured his mind; he could never be rid of them. They haunted him, with their smirks and glares. He woke up, gasping. I’m home. I’m free of them. They have no hold over me.

A shadow was at his door. A figure stepped in, carrying a candle. The candle light set off her fiery hair, glinting in the night. Sansa.

Her eyes were wide-eyed and worried, face a picture of raw concern. “Jon?” She called out, soft as a dove. She set the candle down on his desk gently, then walked sure footedly to his bedside. “Are you alright?” She knelt by his side, her hair falling over her face like a red petal. “You were screaming.”

Ah, he had been loud. He was sorry that he had woken her up from her slumber so crassly. Sansa did not need to be reminded of the horrors of the night anymore than the ones she must certainly be plagued with herself. He was not to bring anymore torment into his life, and he was determined not to burden her with his pain, nor his scars. He looked into her watery blue eyes, as blue as a Tully river. No, those eyes had seen enough. Enough atrocities and deprivation. Jon would not add to that.

“It’s nothing. Only a bad dream.”

Sansa covered one of his hands with her own, her touch tender as only a lady’s would be. “Jon.”

“I’m fine, Sansa. Go back to bed.”

Her eyes turned stone cold. “I can’t sleep. Not anymore.” 

Jon reached out and stroked her crimson hair, watching the glint of light in its strands. “I’m so sorry I woke you, Sansa. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You won’t tell me what gives you nightmares.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and she had never looked more sad and broken. “Let me share your pain. I want to help you.”

He squeezed her hand in his fiercely, protectively. “You don’t deserve that burden. You’ve been through too much already. I will not add to your hurt, my lady.”

Sansa snatched her hand away from his, glaring at him with icy eyes so like her mother’s. “I am not your lady, Jon. I am your family. When will you let me in?” She got up to go, but he grabbed her arm with a sudden burst of desperation, and dragged her back down to his side. They were now at face level, with Sansa staring into his stormy grey eyes, hard as steel.

“I do everything I do to protect you, Sansa. I need to keep you safe; you’re all I’ve got. You’re precious to me, and don’t you ever forget it.” She made to look away, evade those fervent eyes, but he held her cheek and made her look at him. “I cannot, will not, give you more anguish.”

His gaze was all-consuming, burning into her soul. She felt enveloped in warmth and passion, like Jon’s eyes were a flame. She gasped involuntarily and pulled away. “Fair enough, Jon, don’t tell me.” Her voice was as cutting and chilling as ice.

“Sansa.”

“There’s nothing you can protect me from. I have seen the whole gamut of monsters this world has to offer. I have scars, Jon, all over me. On my body, in my brain, on my heart, in my soul. I’ve been chewed up and torn down and I’m lucky to be still standing. Living another day is sometimes torture, because I feel like a broken doll whose pieces cannot come all come back together again. Sometimes, I feel like there’s a hole where my heart should be. I wonder, did Ramsay take that too?”

 _That sick bastard._ Jon's head snapped up at the sound of Ramsay’s name. Sansa was a little afraid of the wildness in his eyes then, as ferocious as a wolf’s. Jon sat up and grasped her shoulders intensely, gripping her so tight she could almost feel a permanent indentation on her porcelain skin. “Listen to me. That bastard can never hurt you again. He’s dead and gone, and nothing, you hear me? Nothing! You’re safe here, always and forever.”

Sansa let out an unbidden sob then, and broke, collapsing into his arms, world-weary and spent. “I know, Jon, I know. I killed him, and yet I still see his face, smirking up at me in my dreams. I fear I will never be rid of him.” She held onto Jon desperately.

Jon gathered her closer, holding her gently, worried he might break her, this ivory girl as fragile as a feather in his arms. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. He can’t get to you, just come to me.” He buried his face in her auburn tresses.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Sansa whispered, her voice no louder than a little bird’s.

Jon drew back, his hands still on her shoulders. “Of course. I shall never forbid from my bed when you need me.”

Sansa gave him a tiny smile, and nuzzled his cheek with hers. “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon moved aside and opened up the furs to let her into his bed beside him. She fell into the space he gave her, fitting perfectly. There was more than enough space for the two of them in Robb’s old bed. Yet, there was a need for them to be as close as possible, to chase away each other’s demons and ghosts. Sansa huddled close to Jon, snuggling into him. His arms enveloped her slender frame protectively. She nestled her head into his chest almost instinctively. He made sure the furs were wrapped around them as warmly as possible; he could feel Sansa shivering still. Finally, sleep came, and this time the nightmares were at bay.

Jon slipped back into consciousness as Sansa stirred beside him, burrowing into him even more. He gathered her closer to him, addicted to her warmth. There had been nothing but cold in him ever since he was resurrected in, a chill he couldn’t shake off, but Sansa Stark was slowly thawing the icy feeling he had grown accustomed to. He stroked her auburn tresses tenderly, watching her sleep. She looked so content and at rest, curled up against him. He felt himself drawn to her alabaster skin and pearly pink lips. She was so close to him, and he imagined dipping his head down to caress her cheeks with his lips . . .

 _'No,'_ Jon berated himself internally. He was a sick bastard himself. How could he even think about his lady sister Sansa in such an inappropriate way? She had been through enough without having a lecherous brother looking to take advantage of her. He cursed himself. Sansa deserved better. He willed himself to look away from her and go back to sleep.

Sansa woke up to the feeling of something rock hard digging into her hip. Groggily, she tried to move away from whatever it was poking into her, but Jon’s firm arms pulled her back to him. She looked over at him. His eyes were shut. 

“Jon,” she whispered, shaking his shoulders a little, “Wake up.”

Jon’s eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?” In a flash, he was sitting up, glazed eyes giving the room a cursory glance. 

“Nothing, it’s just - “ Sansa didn’t know how to explain it. The hardness had left her side. “Something was poking me is all.”

Before she had even finished her sentence, Jon was blushing hard, his cheeks tinged a bright pink. Eyes downcast and hands curled into fists, Jon said softly, “I think you should leave now, Sansa.”

Sansa’s eyebrows knitted together, stung and confused. Then she looked down.

There was something upright and pointy where Jon’s loins were. Her eyes widened, realizing. That was her brother’s manhood. Why was it doing that? Sansa had never seen anything like that before, not even when she had accidentally walked in on Robb naked in the baths and he’d roared at her to leave. She scrambled up and away from Jon, a little frightened at what she didn’t understand. Her eyes flickered back up to Jon’s, and this time, his Stark grey eyes met her Tully blue ones. In them, she saw a mournful look. He seemed pained. 

“Jon?” Her voice sounded small and frail, even to her. 

“Just go,” Jon rasped, turning away from her.

So she did, feeling like she had done something wrong. She’d ruined the only comfort she had. Now, lying in her own bed, she felt even more lost and alone. She felt so empty. She had lost the only family she had left, and what was worse, she’d felt more than sisterly feelings to Jon when she had laid beside him, nuzzling on to his leanly muscular chest.

She’d wanted something that she didn’t even have a name for, and she’d ached, oh how she’d ached. She was craving something, _anything_. She’d burned for him, and had wanted nothing but to kiss his bare chest. She flushed, remembering the repulsive things she had felt towards her own brother. She huddled her knees to her chest, wishing to forget how bad she’d been.

But all she could think of was Jon’s manhood, and how she’d wanted to touch it.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is! Poor Jon and poor Sansa. Maybe if they find out that they're actually cousins, it'll get better?


End file.
